Checkmate
by Shadow DarkFlower
Summary: What happens when you mess with the wrong person? Written for the Fete Des Mousquetaires


Hey all!

This was written for the - Beware! Revenge - July challenge by KarriNeves. For more info, please look at the forum page:-)

Thanks goes to the awesome AZgirl for her proofing and support!

I hope ya'll enjoy this. I know the summer's can be hard and stressful for some people, me included, so hopefully this will make your day a little better.

Enjoy!

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 _Revenge is a dish best served_ _ **cold.**_

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There was nothing more satisfying than stalking your prey - especially when they called the start to the hunt. The thrill of the chase, the pumping of adrenaline as you close in on the target, lining it up in your sights. The planning involved to give you the advantage, the higher ground in the final brawl.

The scent of their fear in the air climbing as you push in on them, taunting them with glimpses but no sights. Echoes, but no sounds. Their eyes widen and their nostrils flare as their body subconsciously shows the signs of their fear. Their eyes dart around at shadows and your laugh; that evil cackle that sounds almost like a rabid beast sends their blood curdling through their body as their limbs freeze with the knowledge that there's no escape from your grasp.

~X~

Dark eyes darted around, the orbs almost shining in the moonlight as a head peeked out from its place hiding in the shadows on the abandoned walkway leading up to his target. He crept forward on feet as silent as a feather, his steps sure on the sun-warped wood as he traversed the path known to him for years. He avoided the middle of the third step at the top, lest the give in the wood allow a creak and give his cover away to the target hidden behind the closed door to the left.

In his hands was an old piece of wood, the length stretching out until it was towering in height over its carrier. The mysterious fellow propped it carefully up outside the door and tied it to the knob. He quickly covered it with something, worried about the time now lest he be seen in the early morning dawn and stopped from following through with his actions.

His actions were honorable. He hadn't started this madness, but sought to finish it. There was no way he could let lie what had been done, and in the name of justice, he wouldn't. Justice would be served.

And if he got his revenge out of it, well, then...His target should have known not to challenge the master.

~X~

It started out just like every other morning at the garrison. d'Artagnan pushed himself up from his bed, completely ignoring the twinge in his side as he pulled a bruise he'd received yesterday courtesy of a flailing thief. Not that the others knew, oh no, because then he would never hear the end of how a teenage, skinny as a rail waif managed to bruise him, a trained Musketeer.

He'd just finished pulling on his shirt, had one boot on and was fighting to get the other one on, his mind still a bit delirious from a deliciously full night's sleep like he hadn't had in ages, when all of a sudden his hackles rose at the piercing sound echoing through the air at the garrison.

 _A scream._

The Gascon leapt up and bolted to the door, hobbling on his uneven feet, his boot still hanging from his hand. He grabbed his sword and pistol from next to his door and, bolted through it out into the morning sun's glare. He blinked to clear his eyes from the black spots dotting his vision at the change in light when they ended up focusing on a crowd gathering around a man sitting on the floor of the catwalk. He pulled his boot on and was jogging over to see what the commotion was when he realized that the man on the floor was Porthos. His feet sped up and he pushed his way through the gathering crowd to get to his friend.

He dropped to his knees next to the larger man, eyes already scanning for something, anything, to say why the man screamed.

"Porthos, what's wrong? What happened? Where are you hurt?" The young man stammered out, his nerves jumping up quite quickly when he realized some of the men gathered around were hiding their chuckles behind their hands, or turned away to keep him from seeing it. He turned his gaze back to his friend, only to find him glowering at something behind him.

"Porthos?" He questioned at the same time he turned. His mind came up blank and his mouth dropped a little seeing the branch covered in a cloth, giant letters stained dark against the lighter material.

 _Checkmate._

All at once, d'Artagnan surmised what had happened and had to stifle his own laugh, shaking his head and trying to look all sympathetic when Porthos turned to look at him in disbelief. He leaned back until he fell on his backside, bringing his knees up to his chest so he could tuck his face into the little cavern created to chuckle without bothering his friend too much.

When the chuckles finally died down and the crowd started dispersing, the Gascon stood and pulled his friend to his feet. After checking to make sure the older man was alright, just to be sure there wasn't anything other than his pride smarting, the duo made their way down the stairs and headed towards their usual table.

Their table was occupied by one other person, who took a sip of the coffee in his mug to give a minor disguise to the grin across his face. They sat, and when Porthos winced slightly when he sat due to a little bruise left on his behind from his very ungraceful fall, the grin on their companion's face grew wider and something like manic glee entered his expression.

d'Artagnan and Porthos froze at the look. Porthos started growling as the realization hit him and he almost pushed himself to his feet, but what was left of his pride stopped him from moving from his spot. The other's grin continued to grow at the larger man's plight, the dark haired man not once appearing repentant for his actions. d'Artagnan just shook his head and moved away from the duo as their glaring match continued, saving the spot next to him for their other remaining friend and turned his attention to his breakfast, unwilling to get involved.

It wasn't long before their missing fourth arrived, who noticed quite quickly the tension between the two men and the chuckles from others who were just watching the happenings at their table, while their youngest resolutely kept his gaze on his plate. He sat next to the younger man, and had opened his mouth to ask just what had transpired in his absence, when his gaze locked onto the makeshift dummy still lying outside Porthos' door and the furtive glances they were still receiving. He shook his head and took a sip on the coffee in his mug.

"I don't even want to know, I don't think." The look d'Artagnan sent him in agreement almost made him worried, but he pushed that to the side. After this many years together, he was well used to the other men's quirks, habits, tricks and antics. He took another sip of his coffee.

"You know Porthos, you only have to blame yourself. I told you not to pull all the feathers out of his hats to replace them with pink." The howl Porthos let out jump started the laughter all over again. The newcomer just hid his smile behind his normal stoic expression and the mug pressed to his lips.

And if anyone saw the gleam that entered his eyes when he finally got the whole story, well...everyone just thought it was the way the sun caught on them.

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So...what'd ya'll think? I'm thinking about turning this into a series all about the pranks they play. Let me know what you think!


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